


Never Out of Sight

by orphan_account



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Cursed Gaston (Disney), Immortality, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Redemption, Reincarnation, gaston is lonely, lefou is confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lefou makes a deal: he'll spend three days in The Forest, and he'll come back alive. And if he does, nobody gets to be an asshole to him anymore.Gaston has been wandering for a very long time, waiting for forgiveness he knows he'll never receive.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoooo first Gafou fic~  
> Enjoy~

_Day 1_

The adrenaline leaves alongside the determination after ten minutes of marching into the forest outside Villanueve- uncharted territory even the town's bravest, strongest, most intimidating men wouldn't dare wander alone and unarmed. And Lefou was, well, not very good at being brave or strong or intimidating.

 Really, he's only good at making terrible decisions.

 "Stupid," Lefou mutters under his breath angrily, only realizing his mistake after realizing that he is alone and (very, very) lost. He thinks, bitterly, that he does live up to his name after all. He could die here and nobody would notice. Nobody would care.

 He hopes it isn't too late to turn around and run back to the village. Preferably alive, and intact, and not in any excruciating pain whatsoever.

 (The glowing yellow eyes he sees when he turns around seem to disagree.)

 "Oh, fuck," he says. The world crashes and burns around him, and the only things he can see are those eyes.

 Lefou runs.

 The wolf leaps after him with a snarl, growling as it pursues its future meal. It's really, really fucking fast and Lefou is really, really fucking slow, and he regrets not exerting any effort in gym class and carrying a backpack that makes it feel like he's holding the whole world's weight on his shoulders. He runs, and runs, and runs, and he almost trips but thank God he doesn't.  

 But the damn wolf is still getting closer oh God oh God he's going to _die,_ someone help him-

 (As he runs for his life, he absentmindedly notes the absence of other wolves. _Don't wolves travel in packs? What does this-)_

As if on cue, several more wolves emerge from the darkness, snarling and growling and biting as they close in on their prey.

 "Oh, _fuck,"_ he repeats, much louder this time. This is it, isn't it? He's going to die. He's never going to Paris. He's never going to meet The Man With The Arrogant Smile, the one who haunts his dreams every night. Or has, considering he's not going to get out of this alive.

 He backs away slowly and the wolves slowly slink in, and his back hits a fucking tree.

 Fucking hell, why was this day so unlucky?

 He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for his death as the wolves come closer-

 Nothing comes. No being tackled to the ground, no pain, no death.

 Wait. What?

 Maybe it's just the shock. Or maybe the pain was actually too much he became paralyzed. Maybe a wolf tackled him and he broke his spine. Maybe he's already dead.

 But what are gunshots doing in heaven, as well as a wolf's pained howl?

 Lefou opens one eye.

 There is a figure before him- a man, he figures- is very, very large. Perhaps, Lefou's delirious brain offers, about the size of a flat-bottomed boat. He has a musket in one hand- _who even uses muskets these days?_ Lefou ponders- and a bow on his back.

 His hair is tied in a loose ponytail, some strands falling out of it. And he's quite fit, if the generous arm muscles visible in his tight-fitting clothes are any indication.

 But this isn't the time to be ogling a stranger. A potentially dangerous stranger. Especially with the wolves around-

 Hold on.

 Are the wolves...

 Dead?

 Lefou swallows.

 What if this person is a murderer? A psycho? Despite being saved from an untimely and very much unwelcome death (for which he is grateful), would he fall victim to this stranger in the end?

 The stranger, obviously having noticed Lefou's eyes burning holes into his back, chuckles. "I know it's a nice view. (Obviously it is, because it's me.) But if you just stand there, gaping, you'll be making this easier for _other_ wolves to find you."

 The stranger turns to look at him. He blinks upon seeing Lefou, almost as if he doesn't believe his eyes. The stranger clears his throat and shakes his head, and turns fully so that they're face to face. A confident smirk is splayed across his features.

 "I do believe a thank you is in order,"

 Okay, more arrogant than confident, but, well.

 Lefou blinks and sputters out words of gratefulness and praise, mouth and voice on autopilot, and the stranger seems to soak it all in with the same smirk.

 "I know, I'm just amazing, aren't I?" he says.

 Lefou is somehow compelled to agree. It feels practiced. Normal. Like it's something he's done for years.

 "I am curious, though," says the stranger- _Damn,_ Lefou thinks, _I_ _should really get this guy's name.-_ "What are you doing here in this dangerous forest, where it's full of big bad wolves?"

 "What are _you?"_ Lefou asks back, and the stranger grins.

"Touché," he says.

 "W-well," Lefou says shakily, still the slightest bit dazed, "I really am thankful, Monsieur, um,"

 "Gaston," the stranger- Gaston- provides.

 It feels like he's heard that name before.

 "And you are?"

 He doesn't know why but he says it. "Lefou."

 Gaston visibly tenses. Lefou swears he can see it in Gaston's eyes, the confusion and- was that sadness?- but he turns away and breaks eye contact far too quickly for Lefou to confirm it.

 The taller of the two huffs, "Well, you should be going back to Villanueve," he mutters. "You don't want to be here. Why are you even here, anyway?"

 "Why are you?" they're just repeating words, going in circles. Gaston mutters something Lefou doesn't quite catch.

 "What?"

 "I don't know," Gaston says, obviously uncomfortable. Lefou thinks he's lying, "But I want to get out."

 "Can't you?"

 A beat, "..No."

 "Why not?" Lefou presses. Is he being too nosy?

 Gaston scowls, "It doesn't matter," and starts walking away.

 "It was a bet," Lefou finds himself saying. Gaston stops in his tracks and turns his head a little, attention caught. "They called me a fag," he searches Gaston for some sort of semblance of distaste. None, "And a coward. Came here to disprove that. I'm supposed to be here for three days."

 Gaston puffs out a laugh, "That's stupid. And suicidal."

 "I suppose so,"

 It's then that Lefou notices it. There's something in Gaston's eyes: a faint, faded glimmer, barely even there. Hope? But what would he be hopeful for?

 "Say," Gaston says, "What about I offer you some shelter and company and food for three days. You'll be protected. Unscathed," he pauses, "And the best part is, you get to spend time with me."

 Well, this Gaston is a bit too, er, self-assured. But Lefou can't help but feel like he's used to this.

 But egos and strange emotions aside, it sounds like a promising deal. It sounds... safe.

 It sounds too good to be true.

 He waits for the catch. It doesn't come though, so he asks outright.

 "Catch?" Gaston asks. He shakes his head. "There's none."

 Lefou narrows his eyes suspiciously. This is a complete stranger. He shouldn't trust him.

 (Yet, strangely, he does.)

 Belatedly, Lefou wonders how Gaston knew he came from Villanueve.  
  
*  
  
 Later, when the moon is high up in the sky, its glow dulled by a veil of clouds and leaves, Gaston and Lefou are in the safety of a cave, the latter fast asleep on his (surely uncomfortable) mat. As Lefou's soft snores drift about, Gaston can't help the faint fond smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. He shakes it off.

 He doesn't  _deserve_ to smile at Lefou, not after everything. He doesn't deserve to act like everything's fine. Like everything is back to normal.

 He steps outside the cave. A cold breeze washes over him.

 He doesn't deserve this second chance.

 He doesn't deserve his freedom.

 He doesn't deserve Lefou.

  _Words that haunt him night after night, echo in the emptiness of his mind and his forest and his world, are everything he hears all of a sudden._

_Someone screaming his name; a cry for help._

_And-_

_"Who needs her when you've got us?"_

Gaston falls to his knees and weeps.

 


	2. Day 2

_Day 2_

 The first thing Lefou processes when he wakes up is that his back hurts. As if he slept on a cold stone floor with only a mat to provide him at least a _little_ comfort instead of his far more comfortable bed. He sits up, stretching his arms with a yawn.

 The second thing he processes is that he's hungry, and that the scent of pancakes and fried eggs that would usually wait for him from in the kitchen is strangely missing. He looks around. Stomach groaning in complant, and that's when he realizes he isn't at home.

 He's in a cave.

 How the hell did he get he-

 Oh.

 Once he sees the man towering over his half-asleep form, it all comes crashing back.

 Gaston looks down at him, a barely-even-there smile on his face.

 "I imagine you're hungry," Gaston says, "Hopefully, you like rabbits."

 Lefou's never eaten rabbits before. He makes a face at the thought.

 "Not like you have much of a choice, really," says the tall, tall man, "At least give it a try.  I wasted my precious time and energy for that."

 "Well sorry for being such a burden," Lefou snaps. Gaston looks taken aback for a moment, then chuckles in good humor.

 "I suppose I had that coming," he says. He then sits down, cross legged and facing Lefou, and holds out a cooked rabbit before him, "So. Lunch?"

~

 The meat isn't as bad as Lefou had previously expected, though the idea of eating a completely harmless and innocent animal still isn't quite appealling to him. Still, though, his hunger is able to overlook that small fact.

 Gaston chews slowly. He looks lost in thought.

 Lefou studies him. He's all angles and muscle and manly man. There's nothing soft with how he looks, except maybe-

 Maybe his eyes when he looks at Lefou- for whatever strange reason. Fond and vulnerable and... sad? No, not sad.

 Regretful.

 (But what is there to regret, he wonders.)

 There's something else in his eyes, too. Not just his eyes, Lefou realizes. The _something_ is in his whole being. He's projecting that _something_ every time Lefou looks at him, almost coaxing, as if beckoning some part of Lefou buried deep, deep beneath his soul.

 Lefou tries to figure out what this something is, but he doesn't he's so deep into it until Gaston's voice snaps him out of his train of thought.

 "You know," Gaston says, "If you want an autograph, or a photo, you can just say so."

 Lefou huffs. Huffs at both himself and Gaston because the thought is absolutely absurd yet-

 Yet it's not.

 'Oh my _God,_ what is going on?'

 Lefou turns away, mostly so that Gaston won't see the amount of clashing emotions on his face, and in his peripheral vision he sees Gaston kind of-

 Sag.

 Slump.

 Whatever.

 "So," Gaston starts again, his voice noticeably weaker this time, "How's Villanueve? Is Maurice still, er, 'Crazy Old Maurice'? Does Belle still have her head in the clouds and her nose shoved into a book?" he trails off then, frowning. He looks at Lefou, "Are you still too much of a idiot to stand up for yourself?"

 "Hey!"

 Gaston shrugs.

 Lefou huffs.

 "It's same old Villanueve, I guess. Musical numbers about Belle in the morning and all and- hey, how did you know about Belle and Maurice?" his eyes narrow, suspicious.

 Gaston looks uneasy.

 Lefou's eyes narrow even more.

 "What are you, a stalker? A kidnapper? Are you a psychopath in love with Belle who'd stop at nothing to get her hand in marriage?"

 "Hey now!" Gaston snaps. He looks a little offended. Wait, no. He looks ashamed.

 It feeds Lefou's suspicions.

 "You are!" Lefou exclaims, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you since the very beginning-"

 "I used to live in the village okay?" Gaston answers. He looks impatient. He still looks uncomfortable. "I understand if you don't trust me, but please. I used to live in the village a long time ago and I had to leave. Because of... reasons."

 "I would've remembered you," Lefou argues.

 He doesn't think someone like Gaston would be easy to forget, even if they were children when he'd left.

 "No," Gaston says simply. "No, you wouldn't have. Finish your food."

 Then he leaves.

 Lefou watches Gaston's broad back as he goes.

 He ponders over what Gaston just said, along with his previous musings. It just serves to give him a headache. He surrenders.

 After taking his phone out of his bag, he plays with it until the device dies, which happens sooner than he'd expected. Left with nothing to do, Lefou grows bored.

 Gaston doesn't seem to have any plans to come back.

 Maybe he'd abandoned Lefou.

 A small part of him thinks it wouldn't be anything new.

 Gaston left him, and now he's alone.

 Just like...

 Just like...

 Suddenly his head feels like it's about to burst. Lefou clamps his eyes shut, grips his phone so tightly his knuckles are white, in an attempt to endure the searing pain in his head. He stops thinking about familiarity. He stops thinking about Gaston leaving him. The headache disappears.

 He's breathing heavily, trying to find a wall to hold on to, to support him.

 With a lot of effort Lefou stands and drunkenly stumbles out of the cave.

 'I need some air,'

~

 Gaston is walking back.

 He tramples through trees and leaves and hrass, almost desperately, because _fuck_ he'd just left Lefou behind even when he'd promised himself he isn't going to do it again, isn't going to repeat the same mistake-

 Someone screams.

 Oh shit.

 Lefou.

 Gaston runs, runs as fast as his legs can carry him, runs even when he's running out of breath and adrenaline, because no way is he going to lose Lefou because of his stupidity.

 And there's another goddamn wolf.

 He runs and he tackles Lefou and they stumble away frome the predator, shielding him the most he could. He pants when they stop and mumbles, "Now I know what it's like to be a human shield."

 Lefou looks at him and says, "You saved me,"

 "Of course," Gaston mumbles, "I couldn't- not again-" he starts mumbling incoherently, words lost even to his own ears, yet he knows exactly what he's babbling about. His head feels fuzzy.

 "Deep breaths, Gaston," there's a hand on his shoulder "Deep breaths."

 In his semi-irrational state he looks up with half-lidded eyes.

 Lefou, he sees, past a blur of black spots. He holds out a hand towards him, mumbles "stop," under his breath. He feels the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

 If he could go back in time and tell his past self that he'd cry because of Lefou, Past Gaston would laugh before throwing him in the madhouse with Maurice.

 He can't do deep breaths right now.

 He hyperventilates instead.

 "Gaston, stop it!" Lefou sounds panicked, "Breathe!"

 He wills himself to do as he's told.

 "Good. Another one."

 Lefou's helping him.

 All the wrongs he's done, and Lefou is helping him.

 "Are you good now?" Lefou asks. Gaston nods shakily. Lefou helps him up.

 Oh, what had he done to deserve Lefou? Did he save a country in a past life? Perhaps sacrificed his humanity and became a vampire to save his kingdom then, subsequently, the human race? Because as far as he knows, he'd gotten cursed to live forever miserably in this one.

~

 Later, in the cave, Lefou refuses to look at him as he timidly asks a question.

 "Are you- are we.. friends, now?"

 Gaston looks at him straight in the eye. The faint smile on his face says it all.

 "Your oldest friend," he whispers so faintly only he can hear it, "And your most loyal compatriot."

 He means it this time. Really, really means it.

 And a cruel part of him, a cruel, self-depreciating part that lurks where his deepest secrets hide, shows itself from the crevices of his soul with a laugh that makes him shudder.

  _Too bad,_ that part of him says,  _It's too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly tried my very best to keep Gaston as close to his character as I could but, well. Many, many years of being lonely with all those regret and sadness and stuff welling up inside of you. Well, I'm sure it changes a person a lot. Karma is a very cruel being.
> 
> Anyways, I'm sorry if this was disappointing to anyone. Eheh...
> 
> *holds out a tin can* Kudos and comments feed my soul. *sheepish smile*


	3. Day 3 + 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh this chapter just wouldn't cooperate with me. And even now I'm not too satisfied with this. *sigh* Hopefully it reaches your expectations.
> 
> And LeFou has a real name here, whoops. It's not used a lot because I'm under the impression not a lot of people know about it and Gaston's pretty much used to call him Lefou, soooo... okay, I'll stop rambling now.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

_Day 3_

_He's falling. He's grabbing at the air for things that aren't there, things that could save his life-_

_Gaston's voice doesn't fill the night as he fall from the castle._

_No, the only screams he can hear are LeFou's. Gaston's name, ringing loud and clear within the vast space of the castle._

_He'd trusted him. Trusted him to save his life._

_Everything goes black._

_Sunlight's leaking past the leaves when Gaston wakes, and oh God he's alive! And strangely unscathed, but he'll worry about that another time.Right now, he needs to go back to the village, needs to speak with LeFou, needs to-_

_"They will shun you, Gaston," says a voice. He turns and sees a stranger, who's hidden beneath a dirty beige cloak, a hood low on their face. They must see his confusion, and thus they pull the hood back._

_It's Agathe. He steps back, nose wrinkled in disgust._

_"What are you on about, you old hag?" he scoffs, "They_ adore _me. They won't shun me."_

_"Even now you haven't learned," she sighs, like she's tired of it, and Gaston is furious. And her face is passive- so damn passive- and it makes his blood boil._

_"Just what do you know?"_

_Agathe doesn't reply, not right away, but her expression has gone from slightly exasperated to aloof. It makes his boiling blood run cold._

_"You've condemned yourself," she says, and her voice sounds so much louder, clearer, like it's coming from everywhere and he feels so small, and suddenly there's so much wind and-_

_"From this day onward," she declares- and everything around them is so bright it hurts Gaston's eyes-, "You will forever wander this forest and reflect. Your soul will never find a moment's peace, and you will never die. You are doomed to never find salvation until he forgives you._

_And you know it in your heart, Gaston._

_He never will."_

_~_

 Gaston wakes in cold sweat. LeFou stumbles back, startled, from his position beside his pathetic form. Gaston spares him a glance.

 LeFou is holding a damp piece of cloth in his right hand. It occurs to Gaston that he's been sitting there the whole time, looking after him.

 Concerned.

 (LeFou used to take care of him a lot. The memories are still vivid.

 They've been the only things he'd clung to, after all.)

 "That," LeFou says, uncertainly, "That looked like a really bad dream."

 Gaston breathes out a shaky breath.

 "Oh, it was," Gaston says dramatically, "Woe is me. My precious, fragile mind- tortured!"

 LeFou says, "And you're back," with a roll of his eyes as he pokes him in the forehead, but he's smiling. "Are you okay?"

 "As perfect as ever," he tries for a cocksure grin. He fails. After a beat, he settles for, "Fine," and they sit there in silence.

 “I have them too, sometimes. A lot. You know,” LeFou starts all of a sudden, and Gaston sends him a curious sideglance, “The bad dreams, I mean.” He’s stammering and it’s really quite endearing.

 Gaston fights to repress the amusement that tries to show, because no way in hell does he have the right to act like— like they’re normal friends. He doesn’t have the right to pretend to be ignorant.

 So instead he tilts his head in LeFou’s direction and asks, “What about?”

 “Oh. You know, the usual,” LeFou chuckles a little sheepishly, and Gaston notices that LeFou’s surprised to see him act interested in his life. It’s a sad thought, “I- I never remember the details, not really. But I know they’re bad. Because... because being left for dead by someone you trust in a possessed house is pretty shitty, yeah?”

 Gaston visibly winces. “That’s a pretty fucking terrible person, to do that to someone...”

 He cringes because before, he never would’ve batted an eye at his actions. And knows that he used to consider insulting himself (because of LeFou, no less!) pretty much just impossible, but well.

 Isn’t that what he’s been doing the past pretty much two centuries?

 Insulting himself, hating himself, because of LeFou of all things?

 Man, things change.

 LeFou eyes him curiously. Gaston waves a hand in dismissal.

 “So,” he coughs, “Do you have anything you want to do? Considering it’s your last day and all.”

 “Nothing, really,” LeFou mumbles, “I mean, it’s a forest after all. Not much to do.”

 “You’re missing out,” Gaston decides. LeFou looks at him, eyebrow raised.

 “Oh? Surprise me, then.”

_And for once, Gaston feels like he can ignore the guilt bubbling in the pit of his stomach._

_For once, Gaston thinks he can pretend that  this can all be okay._

 

_._

 

 They walk for what feels like hours, and hike for even longer. They talk all the way, and they get closer, and it _hurts_ Gaston.

 He feels like a dirty liar, feels like the worst person in the world.

 He feels like a cheater.

 “You’ve been acting strange,” LeFou brings up. Gaston looks at him pointedly.

 “You’ve known me for two days,” he says, voice flat, and LeFou shrugs.

 “It feels like it’s been longer. Like I _know you_ know you.”

 Gaston’s heart is beating wild, fast, but he manages an amused smirk, “Would you listen to that.”

 LeFou reddens, “It’s the truth!”

 Gaston shrugs.

 It feels like routine. It feels like home. It feels like—

 It feels like _before before_. When Gaston wasn’t so bad. Before Gaston had been tainted with blood and violence and praise and— Belle.

 “Hello, Earth to Gaston? Are you there?”

 Gaston blinks. “Ah yes. We’re almost there. Ready to be surprised?”

 LeFou nods. They keep on walking. And Gaston tries not to glance too much, honestly, but he fails. He notices, though, the growing strain as LeFou walks, the sweat rolling off his skin.

 “You look tired,” he mutters, “Why don’t we rest for a bit? Freshen up.”

 LeFou is very welcoming to the prospect of a water break. His feet immediately give in and just like that, he’s sitting on the floor, a heap of exhaustion. Gaston sits down before him and offers a canteen of water. LeFou smiles gratefully and drinks it all up.

 Gaston rolls his eyes.

 “You know,” LeFou wipes excess water off his cheek with the back of his hand, ”You’re my first real friend.”

 _Do not tense, do not tense, do not tense,_ Gaston chants in his mind, before he cracks a grin— hopefully his nervousness doesn’t show— and asks, “Really, now?”

 “Yeah, really,” LeFou’s looking at somewhere far away, frowning a little, before he shakes his head and snaps out of it, “But enough drama. I’m sure your life has been far more interesting than mine!”

 “No, not really,”

 Because LeFou was the only reason he was interesting, in the least.

 LeFou was the only reasom the villagers revered him.

 LeFou was the only reason he was alive.

 But LeFou doesn’t remember. LeFou doesn’t _know_ how important he was— _is—_ to Gaston.

 It’s only then that Gaston realizes—

 That, well, everything had been because of LeFou, after all.

 

 .

 

 “Okay, I’m surprised.”

 LeFou sees rolling hills and steady mountains far in the distance, slightly blurred by fog. He sees a lot of green, spilling across the land like an ocean of grass. He sees trees jutting out of the land, the minor peppering of reds and yellows and violets amidst the sea of green.

 Villanueve sits quietly at the bottom of the hill they’re standing on. It’s as quiet and little as ever, but LeFou has no doubt the bar is bustling with life tonight, bets being made in his name.

_“So, LeFou, you know, the guy you technically might have killed— think he made it?”_

 The thought makes him sick.

 “Really?” Gaston sounds pleased, smug even. LeFou doesn’t glance at him; he’s too entranced by the view.

 “It’s beautiful,” LeFou breathes out.

 “Thank you,” he can see Gaston grinning, and why does it feel like he knows everything about the man even when they’ve just known each other for days, _it’s so fucking infuriating and frustrating,_ “Though I suppose the view isn’t half bad as well.”

 LeFou laughs. Gaston laughs. It is perfect, then it is quiet.

 He feels a breeze brush against his skin, play with his hair. The breeze smells like sweet flowers and aged wood and dewy leaves. He feels time slow, déjà vu creeping up on him and—

 “It’s so strange,” he says, mostly to himself, but that doesn’t do anything to keep Gaston from listening, “It’s like… like I’ve been here before.”

 A beat, “Really?” Gaston repeats.

 “Yeah,”LeFou murmurs, before laughing softly and shaking his head, “But that’s silly.”

 He sits down. The grass grazes his skin. He’s glad Villanueve is fairly isolated, and that the wonders of nature in this part of France haven’t been ruined yet.

 Gaston sits down beside him.

 And they talk. They talk for what feels like hours, about everything and nothing at all. They watch as oranges and purples and pinks and reds paint the sky. They watch as the sky turns from dark blue to almost black, stars glinting like shattered glass in the night sky.

 “I think I’ve missed my third day,” he says, pretending to be thoughtful. There’s something welling up somewhere in his chest, something warm and funny and frighteningly alien.

 “I suppose you have,” Gaston breathes out.

 And when have they gotten so close?

 The weird feeling just gets even weirder, more intense.

 “Is it my turn to surprise you?” LeFou says, voice far too soft— and suddenly he’s leaning up and their lips are brushing.

 He reels back, heart thundering, and Gaston— to his credit— _does_ look surprised.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, _Gaston’s going to be just like them. He’s going to be disgusted. He’s going to hate me, drive me away, feed me to the wolves—_

 He doesn’t stop to wonder _when_ exactly he became this attracted to Gaston, because it feels like the feelings have already been there, as absurd as the thought is.

“Why did you do that?” Gaston’s voice is shakier than he’s ever heard, and his head his down, and LeFou can’t see his expression. Dreads to see his expression. Because, _fuck_ , what if, what if, what if—

 “I-I don’t know.” He says it because it’s true.

 Gaston looks up, the grin on his face not reaching his eyes. Not as smug as usual. Not as conceited as usual. Just…

 Just… scared.

_What if he thinks I’m the devil’s spawn?_

 “Well,” Gaston says, “Took you long enough to succumb to my charms.”

 The weird feeling rises yet again.

 As does the silence.

 “I’m sorry. I really am. And I- I actually don’t know why I kissed you,” LeFou stammers, “It’s the truth! Honestly! There was just… something there, I guess. That wasn’t there before. I can’t really explain it. It’s like, er, how do I say this, je ne sais quoi?” he stops, realizing he’s been rambling, and looks up at Gaston.

 Gaston stares.

 And bursts out laughing.

 “Hey! I’m being serious here—”

 Gaston stops laughing, and it occurs to LeFou that this is the first time he’s ever seen Gaston really laughing, really smiling, like he means it.

 “All this years, and I still don’t know what that means,”

 LeFou looks up, “Huh?”

 “Nothing,” Gaston answers, “You should go to sleep. I don’t want you fainting on the way down tomorrow.”

 “Aw, do you care?”

 “No. it’s just too much effort to carry you all the way down.”

 LeFou smiles, “It’s okay. You can admit it.”

 Gaston huffs and LeFou, satisfied, lies on his back and closes his eyes.

 “Goodnight, Clément,” he hears Gaston’s voice say, faint and distant. But before he can ponder on it, he falls asleep.

 

 When Gaston wakes LeFou up, dawn hasn’t even broken yet.

 LeFou moans, groggily. His eyelids are _way_ too heavy, “Five more minutes.”

 “Nope,” says Gaston, and his voice is cheerfully cruel, “It’s five o’clock. Don’t you want to be back to your village bright and early?”

 “No,” LeFou grouses, “Are you that happy to finally get me out of your skin?”

 Gaston is silent. LeFou forces one eye open. Gaston is facing away, shoulders hunched, and something feels tight in LeFou’s chest.

 “If you don’t want me to go, then why drive me away?” he asks, voice soft. Gaston tenses and turns to look at him.

“Because you _need_ to go.”

 They leave it at that.

 LeFou stands, brushes dirt off his clothes and runs his fingers through his mussed up hair in a futile attempt to tidy it. He follows Gaston, and the trek down is a quiet, awkward affair.

 When they’re _just outside_ the village gates, yet still somewhat hidden by the trees and bushes and leaves, LeFou looks up at him and says, “I suppose this is my cue?”

 “Yep,” Gaston mumbles. Then he seems to see LeFou’s expression and asks, “What, aren’t you happy?”

“I guess,” LeFou mutters, “It’s just that. Well, I’ve probably said this before. It’s just that, well, I know it’s only been three days but it feels like I’ve known you for ever.”

 Gaston stills.

 “Oh,”

 LeFou tries not to let that affect him. He turns slightly away from Gaston, embarrassed, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ll. Er. This is gonna sound stupid but— I’ll miss you.”

 Gaston doesn’t move.

 He stays stock still, facing slightly away from him, and stubbornly does not try to reply. LeFou sighs and gives up and starts to walk away.

 Gaston catches his wrist.

 LeFou looks at him, confused and surprised and the slightest bit relieved.

 “If it’s any help,” Gaston mutters, “I guess it’ll be disconcerting without someone fawning all over me.”

 “That’s such a _you_ thing to say,” he says, chuckling despite himself. He doesn’t miss the way the corner of Gaston’s lips quirk up, and he feels the same fuzzy feeling settle in his chest, right where the heart is, and _oh_ , that’s what this sensation is.

 Admiration. Even _love_ , maybe, but it doesn’t make any sense.

 It’s not a surprise, really, when he reaches out to hug Gaston, who doesn’t hug back, but slumps into his hold nonetheless.

 “Too much?” he asks, voice a whisper.

 He feels the trickle of Gaston’s hands floating hesitantly around his waist.

 “Nope.”

 They pull away.

 Gaston pats LeFou’s right shoulder, “Well, best be off, then.”

 “Yeah,” he says and goes on his way.

 “LeFou?” Gaston calls suddenly, when they’re about five steps apart. LeFou turns to look at him.

 “Yeah?”

 Gaston’s lips part, like he wants to say something, but seems to decide against it. He shakes his head, “Nothing. Good luck.”

 LeFou watches as he disappears into the trees.

 

 Approximately a little over half an hour later, in the local bar. There’s a party going on— a party, in _his_ honor. People are dancing, singing, laughing, _in his honor._ Drinking, eating, playing games, _in his honor._

LeFou has never felt so important before.

 People are congratulating him, cheering for him, like he’s their goddamned hero.

 People are talking to him, joking with him, like he’s known them _for-fucking-ever_ , even when three days ago he was, what?

 The lonely, introverted _faggot_ barely anybody talked to.

 He scans the crowd for people he’s talked to before, people he can consider _friends_ because he _knows_ them and not because he won some stupid bet.

 There’s Tom and Dick and Stanley huddled around a table and gulping down shots, and a tipsy Belle giggling, her ever present phone surprisingly absent from her for once as she leans back on a large chair by the fireplace, her boyfriend Adam’s right arm over her shoulders protectively and it all feels _wrong wrong wrong_ —

 Because this is the _wrong_ party with the _wrong_ people and Tom and Dick and Stanley should be standing by _that_ table, not _there,_ and Belle and Adam should not be here, and Gaston should be in her place with a satiated  look on his face as LeFou dances around and sings praises and—

 Okay, where the fuck did that thought come from?

 Regardless of that, he still thinks this is off, so damn off, and it grates on his nerves.

 And he shouldn’t be having this party because none of these people were on speaking terms with him before, save for the threesome that’s ignoring him right now in favor of beer and the slightly frisky, slightly drunk girl who’s far too content in her boyfriend’s hold.

 Because LeFou’s the chubby, awkward reject.

 The chubby, awkward reject who’s never had any friends outside a strange man he meets inside the forest. Not really.

 So he pushes his drink away and stumbles to his feet and makes his way to the door, pushing past a blur of questions and greetings. He busts out of the bar.

 Lady Agathe looks at him curiously, “Are you alright?”

 “Yep. Fine, completely fine,”

 Agathe gives him a Look, like she knows something.

 “Well,” she says cheerfully, with a Smile that goes perfectly with the Look, “If you says so.”

 It’s dark out already— how much time had he spent in that godforsaken party. LeFou runs, eyes closed, and he doesn’t really know where he’s going until the scent of leaves and tree trunks and and crisp, clean night air are stronger. He opens his eyes and he’s greeted by the vast forest.

 He doesn’t know what brought him here.

 It almost feels like Fate. Almost feels like a fairy tale.

 But the forest doesn’t calm him. There’s fear when he faces it, as images of horses and torches and weapons flash,  and promises of murder wing and fill the silence and peace of the night, and a stranger is what’s left of a man he once knew.

 Voices

 Real voices, this time. He strains to hear them, treads as softly as he can.

 “-Could have taken that chance,” says a woman’s voice, hauntingly familiar, “He was right there. And all your efforts.” She sounds amused.

 “That’s true,” Gaston! But who is he talking to— what is he talking about? “I went through all that trouble, and I,” LeFou can’t make out the words, but his heart is beating hard against his chest. What trouble?

 “And he was right there, too—” says the woman.

 And they couldn’t be talking about him. No way. No fucking way.

 “—All you had to do was ask,” she finishes. And Gaston shouts something back, something LeFou can’t understand, because he’s lost in the noise of his own mind. Things he can almost remember—

 And it fills his head in flashes.

 Painful flashes.

_“—Your oldest friend and most loyal compatriot—” says Gaston with his fingers around his chin and a hand on his left shoulder, and eyes that bore right into his, made him squirm, that promised nothing comforting._

_“Do you want to be next?!” and fear courses through his veins._

_And—_

_And LeFou trapped under a harpsichord in so much fucking pain, looking up at a monster, begging for the security he’d always found in him._

_He is met with cold eyes nothing short of hungry, furious, almost desperate._

_“Sorry, old friend. It’s hero time.”_

He’s sure he stumbles back with an inhumane sound ripping out of his throat, pulling his hair and clutching his head as he falls on his back, as he tries to find a way to numb the pain.

 But it hurts so goddamn much.

 Gaston is suddenly there, ripping past the blurs of green and black and he says, “LeFou!” and he’s by his side.

 His touch _burns._

“Were you talking about me?” LeFou cries despite the excruciating pain, desperate, and he can feel the tears rolling down his face. Gaston doesn’t answer, fumbles about to try and help with the pain, but then LeFou shrieks, “Don’t fucking touch me!” and he recoils back.

 LeFou tries to think, but it turns out that thinking hurts a goddamn lot. When the pain finally subsides, he’s breathing heavily, and black spots marr his vision as he looks at Gaston.

 “What the f-fuck,” he breathes out shakily, “Fuck, were you planning to u-use me for someth-ing?”

 “LeFou—”

 “Were you _pretending_ to be my friend? Was any of it even real? Or was as I just a pawn in your sick game of manipulation?”

 Gaston tries again, “LeFou-“

 “Stop fucking calling me that!” he snaps, “I’m not sucking stupid, and I’m not a madman, and we both know that!”

 Though, he’s really starting to question it himself.

 “Clément, then.”

 LeFou’s breath hitches, “My name. My fucking name. How do you know that?”

 “I told you,” Gaston looks tired, and there’s a tiny shred of pity in LeFou, only it’s overpowered by a white-hot ball of rage in his chest, “I used to live in the village.”

 “Stop lying.”

 “There was a curse, you know,” he continues, showing no indication he’d heard LeFou. In fact, it was like he’s forgotten he was even there. “You’d have to forgive me because of the things I’d done in the past, and they were fucking shitty things. Remember those bad dreams you told me about? Yeah, yeah those were my fucking fault. And a sorry from you could’ve ended it all, could’ve granted my long overdue soul the peace it didn’t deserve, and—”

 LeFou’s eyes widen. He thinks of his dreams— his _nightmares_ , and all the feelings of hurt and anger and betrayal they leave in their wake.

 “And why should I trust you?” he demands. “And— if you left me to die, then why the _fuck_ should I _forgive_ you?”

 Silence and then:

 “You shouldn’t,” and something breaks in Gaston, and he laughs but he’s not happy at all, “Oh my fucking God, you shouldn’t!”

 He’s laughing harder now, almost hysterical, and LeFou just watches in horror.

 “All these fucking years , all alone, and I wondered when insanity will finally come and get me,” Gaston says, “And it’s happening now! Now of all days! By God, you aren’t a madman, my friend,” and LeFou shivers, “ _I_ am.”

 “Gaston,” LeFou starts, hesitantly, but Gaston only shakes his head.

 “Go, fucking go, leave a broken man alone,” Gaston says, “It’d be fitting, anyway.”

 And so he does.

 “Mild and merciful,” he hears Gaston muse from behind him, “Your name’s always fit you. You aren’t a fool at all.”

 LeFou clenches his fists and marches on, not looking back.

 

 Five years pass in a blur, without much incident. LeFou’s gotten a bit taller but he hasn’t lost much weight, hasn’t gained any either. He debates regularly about whether or not he should grow a moustache.

 He’s twenty-five now. He’s found a great friend in Belle and an even greater one in Stanley, and life is perfect, and sometimes he _does_ catch himself glancing at the forest, but he never lets himself think about it for more than a moment.

 Even when Lady Agathe gives him Looks and Smiles and gestures to the forest with her head.

 Like she _knows_.

 Then one day he finds himself inside it.

 He doesn’t know how it happens, really. He was just... drawn to it. Like it was coaxing him to come.

 It hits, then, a wave of pain and memories, and the overwhelming _betrayal_ of being left alone, abandoned by who he thought was his greatest friend, and he falls on his knees and he’s sobbing because suddenly everything feels so _real and overwhelming and terrifying_.

 He screws his eyes shut and digs his nails into the dirt, focuses on breathing in and out to distract himself. It works, and the searing headache is gone, and he hauls himself up and spends a few hours going all the way to the top of the hill Gaston had shown him, where the view is spectacular and where he’d kissed him.

 But no.

 None of that now.

 Imagine his surprise when he finds the man standing there, looking out into the world. Gaston bristles, as if he knows he’s there, and somehow LeFou knows he does.

 “You came back,” a statement, not a question.

 “I came back,” LeFou confirms. Gaston doesn’t show any sign of wanting to turn around. LeFou adjusts instead.

 He takes soft steps towards him, leaves and twigs crackling beneath his feet, and with every step, Gaston tenses. LeFou stops when he’s right next to him.

 Neither of them dare to so much as glance at the other.

 “So,” LeFou says, “Why exactly were you cursed?”

 Gaston closes his eyes, breathes.

“I left him,” he says, eyes trained on the grounds, “I left _you_.” And LeFou breathes in sharply. He can feel the faint beginnings of anger ignite somewhere in his chest, but he can’t find it in himself to summon it.

 Gaston doesn’t expand on that. He doesn’t look comfortable. Doesn’t look confident or cocksure or arrogant.

 He looks broken, just like he had that night five years ago.

 And somewhere in LeFou _aches_.

 “I never meant to use you, no. You can’t. You’re too precious for somone like me to use.”

 “Flattery gets you nowhere, Gaston,”

 Gaston smiles bitterly, “The only man I flatter is myself.”

 They’re facing each other now, and Gaston asks, “Will you ever forgive me?”

 “Is that just you trying to break the curse?”

 “No, no,” Gaston is shaking, “Never.”

 The way LeFou looks at him says it all, and suddenly Gaston is crying, like he never would’ve thought— and he should know LeFou really well! “I’m sorry,” he repeats in a whisper. He breaks down into a million “I’m sorry”s and LeFou knows Gaston’d repeat it til the end of days if it was up to him.

 LeFou turns away because he can’t afford to show his face right now, not to Gaston. Not right now. But LeFou knows Gaston doesn’t have to see his face to know that he's crying, too.

 And LeFou doesn’t have to look to know that Gaston is crying and fading away and _disappearing_.

 (And that it’s the happiest Gaston’s ever been despite it all.)


End file.
